


Southern Lights, Northern Lights

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-02-01 22:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: When the southern lights dance in the night, the sky over Massuk is the colour of adra. It makes Sagani think of her journey, and back to the small bear figurine she carried across half of the Eastern Reach. Sometimes it still feels like a travel across half of Eora and half of her life.





	Southern Lights, Northern Lights

**Author's Note:**

> (prompt: hunt's end)

When the southern lights dance in the night, the sky over Massuk is the colour of adra. It makes Sagani think of her journey, and back to the small bear figurine she carried across half of the Eastern Reach. Sometimes it still feels like a travel across half of Eora and half of her life.

Fortunately, it took just a few years. Exciting at first, seeing all those foreign lands, with new stories and actual paper books. She does not read particularly fast, but it can be an advantage on lonely evenings away from home. And so many new people; new friends, even – though she will never understand how they can live out there, where the nights are always so dark.

She still gets letters from Dyrford, from Eder, and each time she remembers how strange it was to see a man who was both a farmer and a warrior. Wise at heart, too, with that wisdom born out of grief, from small shards of everyday reality that build up to a life; from unanswered questions and the very bone marrow of those who _seek_. Having been a hunter for her whole life, Sagani knows that well.

When she goes on a hunt with Itumaak, and strains her ears to notice the softest crunch of snow under a foot of a snow hare, she can still hear echoes of Kana’s songs. Sometimes, when she gets closer to the seashore, she could swear she hears all the way to Rauatai.

When she gets home and sits together with her family, friends and neighbours over a feast of meat and ale and stories, she drinks their health. They shared many similar evenings during their time on the road. Youthful enthusiasm, jokes trying to cover old wounds others should not be burdened with, advice how to look for the right direction from the one who was lost herself; what a merry band they made. And a priest whose goddess had stopped answering his prayers.

Yes, there are moments she misses even Durance’s bickering. She never liked him, but they had more in common than either would care to admit aloud, both clinging to their purpose despite so many questions. But where she found confirmation, he only found more doubt. Because of that, she drinks to him, too.

And when all the cups are dry and the tales succumb to sleep, Sagani walks out into the open, looks at the sky and thinks of the Watcher; of Eidis. The lights painted over the sky look like adra reflecting in her eyes. And on nights like this, when there are other colours, too, faint yellow like a wilting pilgrim’s crown, and the purple glow like that of a cipher’s powers – visible only through shut eyelids – Sagani remembers Eidis’ face and quiet voice, and the many talks they shared beside the campfire.

She always prided herself on being observant, but it took meeting the Watcher to make her notice things she should have always paid more attention to. Her family. Friends. Her village. It is not that she did not see them, or did not care enough, but she did not appreciate simply _having_ it all. Not until she met Eidis, who was seeing images from the past, familiar faces of people she could remember nothing about except that they had been important. They did not really talk about that; just a few short sentences – but maybe each word was all the more meaningful for that.

From then on, Sagani always took special care to remember. It became her little ritual every time she went to sleep. Her parents, aging, but still healthy, steadfast, the rock upon which she built her strength. Kallu, her husband; his smile and his warmth, his reliable hands, the hands of a builder, and arms that could safely hold all their three remaining children at once. Their children’s voices and faces; Yakona, Estuya, Najuo, Aniik and Malaak, all of them together because they have been one family, those alive and those dead as well.

Not dead; reborn. The pain will always be there, like that ache deep in once broken bones when the cold comes, but her quest taught her that all that goes away always returns. She hopes she will meet them someday, hopes they were given life this time. The thought she might have already met them, that they might be living as close as in a nearby village, makes her smile.

She cherished the day she returned, but treasures every moment spend with her family even more, thankful for their existence, for being her safe haven, her anchor. The journey taught her to be glad for simply being together, a family, a community, for those bonds tough and durable like the string of her bow.

The most important thing she understood was not why they revered their elders in such a way, why there was some reason to journeying that far and risking that much; though she learnt all that, too. But the most important discovery was that there is no better road than the one which leads home.

And as she remembered her family when she was away, now she looks at the sky and remembers the Watcher. The sorrow written over Eidis’ face, her kind smiles and her patience; and the Durgan steel resolution hidden beneath that soft exterior, like rock under layers of snow.

Sagani does not drink to the Watcher. Instead, she hums; old melodies that hold the familiar souls together and lead them onto the right paths. She would sing properly, but her children are asleep, and she does not want anyone to know she can be this sentimental. It is the thought that counts, anyway. That was what the Watcher told her; that thoughts can shape reality.

So now Sagani remembers, and in her soul, she sings the Watcher a path home, and a path for those Eidis would wish to have there with her. And a light, to always brighten up that northern sky, even on the darkest nights; and for Eidis to be that shining light herself.


End file.
